


No matter where you run, you just end up running into yourself

by storiestoldbyleo



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Feels, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Arguing, Blood, Confusion, Dark Jughead Jones, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fights, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Heartbreak, Help, Hurt Jughead Jones, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Jealousy, Loneliness, POV Jughead Jones, Pain, References to Depression, Relationship(s), Sad, Smoking, Stand Alone, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-01
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-02 09:13:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17261540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiestoldbyleo/pseuds/storiestoldbyleo
Summary: 'In hindsight he should have seen it coming. There had been something in the air. Chaotic electricity toying with the hairs on the back of his neck.'It's basically Jughead, fighting his inner demons. His realtionship with Betty, Archie, with his parents. With himself and his place in this world.   Sadness, helplessness. A rollercoaster of emotions.This story does not follow the series storyline but does include various(most) events from the series, although differently.For example, Jugheads 'slip-up' with Toni, and Betty's kiss with Archie. His mom and sister are also gone.  FPs arrest will also be included.It's my own version of Riverdale with various twists.





	1. Strike one.

He had always been on the receiving end of it all. The cosmic joke that was his life. He guarded himself with an unhealthy dose of pessimism. Expecting the worst, accepting the little wins, but always keeping in mind that, if not now, the worst was yet to come.

  
And so, he should have known better. He’d always told himself not to get too comfortable. But that's the thing with comfort. It sneaks up on you. It's like a warm blanket on cold nights. It's warmth slowly taking control of your senses, making you unaware of the cold, unforgiving world that surrounds you. So when the icy reality came crashing down around him, there had been no safety net.

  
In hindsight he should have seen it coming. There had been something in the air. Chaotic electricity toying with the hairs on the back of his neck.

It had started with Betty. Because as much as he loved her, needed her, he could feel them drifting apart. Their fights becoming more frequent. Small things at first. And thinking about that now, he longed for those small, insignificant things. Be the dam had burst. And now all he could see, so painstakingly clear, were parrallels between his relationship with Betty, and what had once been the relationship of his parents.  
And after one of their more prominent fights; one with alot of mudslinging - opening old wounds, he had got up and walked out.

 

 

He found himself sitting on a swingset, near where he used to live, back when his family was still complete. On the good side of town.  
Archie, Betty and him had spend alot of their childhood playing here. Basking in the sun.  
 That seemed like lifetimes ago.

Now he was alone, in the middle of the night, fidgeting with a pack of cigarettes. How ironic. Him occasionally smoking had been a recurring subject in their fights. Even more ironic was the fact that when smoking, he felt that he could ‘breath’, so to speak. The smoke filling his lungs provided him with a stillness. The world didn't seem to turn as fast. He could collect his thoughts.      
It grounded him, took the edge off. Off of the anger, the sadness, the fear, life in general.

So there he was, Chuck Taylors creating two lines in the sand underneath his shoes, lighting a cigarette and inhaling deeply.  
He felt out of place here. He felt out of place everywhere lately.  
For a while his phone sporadically vibrated in his jeans pocket. He couldn’t get himself to read the messages. He needed time to clear his head. After a while he felt this phone breath out it's last breath with one long final vibration.

  
Looking down he counted 4 cigarettebuds.  
He lost track of time. Didn’t know what time it was, but knew it was time to get going. He thought about going back to Betty, but eventually decided against it. He wasn’t ready. And so he started walking the long way home. To the wrong side of town.  
He dreaded talking to Betty, because what his time on the swingset had made him realise was that he had to be honest with her. But the last thing he wanted to do was hurt her. Nor himself for that matter. He wanted to be selfish. Holding on to that last piece of hope.  
  
 A war was waging within him, only momentairly stilled when he finally made it to his bed. Being granted a little peace in the form of a dreamless night.

  
All good things must come to an end, that fact made itself known once again when he woke up the next morning. Laying in bed, he tried to keep as still as he possible could. Even momentarily holding his breath. Willing the world to stop turning. Stop the time from passing, so he wouldn’t have to face the unevitable.  
 It was to no avail.  
The one thing he was grateful for was the realisation that he was home alone. His dad being out doing god knows what, but for once he was glad his father wasn’t home, because he had the feeling his misery radiated off of him. So much so that even is father would be able to sense it.  
  
His body felt like it was made from lead. Every movement seemingly in slowmotion. Eventually he sat, feet on the ground, on the edge of his bed. Phone in one hand. Charger in the other.  
His phone was still dead, and for a while Jughead envied the thing. Blissfull nothingness sounded scarily good to him right about now.  
  
  
 Mustering up enough courage, he plugged in the white cable that brought the device in his hand back to life. Almost immediatly the thing started vibrating with incoming messages. If it hadn’t been for the growing pit in his stomach, he’d almost feel happy that he had been missed. Most days he felt like he could dissapear into thin air and it would go unnoticed.  
  
His phone told him he had (4) missed calls. Three were from Betty. One was from Archie. Atop of that he had 6 unread messages. One, from Archie, he decided to read first.

_Archie, 01:47 AM:  
Betty called. Everything OK? Where are you?_

He was not exactly sure how to resond to that. He wasn’t OK, but he couldn’t really explain what it was that he did feel. And thus he decided to not respond.

The next string of message coming from Betty.

_Betty, 12:50 AM:_   
_Jug, please pick up._   
_Betty, 01:15 AM:_   
_Where are you? Im worried._   
_Betty, 01:23 AM:_   
_Im sorry. Really. I shouldn’t have brought up the Toni thing. Can you please just at least respond?_   
_Betty, 01:34 AM:_   
_Jug?_   
_Betty, 2:03 AM:_   
_Please/_

By the time he was done reading, his knuckles were painfully white, clutching his phone. His heart broke reading her messages. He could just about see her, up all night. Tearstained face, worried out of her mind. All the while he was just selfishly sitting on a playground swingset smoking cigarettes.  
   
He loathed himself. There was a burning desired to not be this person, to not be trapped in this body of his. The feeling took him over. Before he even realised what he was doing, he was pounding his fists against the wall as hard as he could.  
 He wasn’t sure when he had started crying, but he eventually found himself slumped against said wall, bloody knuckles and a wet face, panting.  
His knuckles hurt. He was afraid he might have broken his hand. But he embraced the pain. Physical pain, he thought, hurt far less than the mental pain he’d been feeling. The pain cleared the fogg in his head. Reminding him what needed to be done.  
  
  
And so he texted Betty:  
_My phone died, sorry. Can we meet? We should talk._


	2. Chapter 2

They agreed to meet up at their usual spot in Pickens Park; a ramshackle picnic table near the edge of the park. 

Having skipped school for the day, Jughead made it there ahead of time. It was a crisp autumn day, the air cool but the sun giving the park a warm glow. How fitting, he thought, that even the weather stood in stark contrast with him. Why couldn’t it be a dull grey day to reflect his mood.  
He sat there, head down, studying his busted knuckles. He supposed he should tend to them, but then again, why should he? So instead he clenched and unclenched his fists, mesmerized by the way the movement tore up his healing skin. He was so caught up in it, that he didn't notice Betty making her way towards him until he heard her voice.  
‘Jug?’

He registered her voice, but it took him half a second too long to respond accordingly.  
‘Betty, I… Hey.’ He was in the process of getting up when he decided he had no idea how to greet her, and so he sat back down. Betty followed his lead, taking a seat across from him.  
There was a long moment in which neither one said anything. They just sat there. He could feel her eyes on him, but he had a hard time looking up, and so he resumed looking at his hands, folded on the table in front of him. He tried to steady his breathing. To think of something to say. Anything.

Then he felt her hands encircling his wrists: ‘What happend?’  
Her voice was soft, concerned. He chuckled, but it sounded pained. 

‘Never pick a fight with a wall. It’s a losing game.’ His voice thick with emotion, finally looking up at her.  
She looked as pristine as ever, wearing her beige overcoat, her hair pulled back in the infamous ponytail. But a closer look revealed cracks. Eyes that missed their usual gleam, underlined with bags that told him she barely slept. 

‘Jug..’ She swallowed. ‘I’m so sorry. About yesterday. What I said, I don’t know why I keep pushing you away. I just-‘

‘No.. Betts, please. Don’t apologize. I’m not mad. Not at you. -  
He interrupted.  
\- That’s not why I walked out last night.’ 

‘But..’- She started before being interrupted again.  
‘Betts, I just… I love you, more than I could ever express. And inspite of that.. or maybe because of it, I know we’re on a train going nowhere. And I can’t..’- His voice broke, lip quivering. 

‘What are you saying?’ Betty’s voice was small, trying her hardest not to cry.

Jughead swallowed, unsure whether or not his voice even worked anymore.  
‘I’ve seen this. What’s happening. I’ve seen it destroy my parents.. Betts, I don’t want us to start resenting each other. I’d rather have you as a friend than not at all. Even if it might take some heartbreak for now.’ 

Betty was crying now, trembling, shaking her head. She looked like a deer, but not in the headlight. No, she looked like she was hit by a car without headlights. Totally blindsided. 

He stood, fighting the urge to make a run for it, and sat next to her. Unsure at first, but then took her in his arms. They cried together. Her head in the crook of his neck. His hand stroking her hair, hushing her. When they both calmed down a little, Jughead leaned away, looking down at her. He took hold of her hands. He looked scared.

‘Betts, please just promise me you won’t..- That you will take care of yourself.’ He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. The act itself was so solemn that Betty couldn't do anything else but nod. Jughead nodded back, the slightest hint of relief crossing his features. Then he got up, looked at her one last time and walked away. For now, he told himself. 

 

Where do I go from here? He thought. Not just figuratively, but also literally. He wanted to avoid people at all costs. Jughead was never one to openly display his emotions. It was a defence mechanism, originating from the countless times he’d been let down as a kid.  
It were times like these that he almost understood his fathers need to drink. Almost. Too scared to be vulnerable, so instead just drowning out your emotions. He got the allure. But he’d seen the downside, up close and personal. Got to pick up the pieces when the dust had settled.  
So instead he just wandered like he usually did. He wiped his cheeks with the sleeve of his lammy coat. He had no right to wallow in self pity, but the tears just kept coming. All he could do was torture himself with what-if’s. Blame other people. Blame himself. Blame Archie. Blame Betty. Back to blaming himself. For allowing himself to feel so deeply. He knew better. He let his guard down, got lured in with the idea of a happily ever after. Silly boy.

He thought back to a paper he once read about psychopaths; the discussion about nurture versus nature. Are people born evil or are they raised to be so. What if he would apply that idea to his own life? Was he born to be unhappy or was it a series of unfortunate events in his upbringing that made him as miserable as he was? Sure, he was born in a far from average family. Ganglife, fights, alcohol abuse, separation, homelessness. But it hadn’t been all bad. They laughed, celebrated, loved. They were a family once. And what’s average anyway? Every family has their own shit. A big influence on the quality of life comes from how people handle that stuff. Who knows, maybe he had just somehow unleashed the wrath of the universe or god - or whoever was in controle – upon him. Maybe that explained the shitshow he called a life.  
His body ached. Both mentally and physically exhausted. Dusk had encircled him. Finally the atmosphere had adapted to his mood.


	3. Chapter 3

Sleep wouldn’t come that night, the walls of his already small room closing in on him. He was both too hot and too cold. He was craving a cigarette, a whole pack even, but he couldn't muster up the strength to get up.

 

Eventually he must have fallen asleep, but it was not the salvation he was hoping for. He was tormented with nightmares. Horrifying images. Figments of his imagination, fused together with reality. Or was it all real? He was hyper aware of himself. He wasn’t even sure he was really sleeping, but he couldn’t open his eyes. Nor could he move. He was paralyzed. He tried to scream but nothing happend. He was a mind trapped in a body. Did he die? Was this what it felt like to be dead?

The feeling of being in limbo streched on for hours, days, years. But then, by some stroke of luck, he got pulled out. Back to where he had left his body; his small room. Only now the room wasn’t pitchblack but instead dimly lit, the soucre of the light being a window on the far side of the room. It was morning.

It took him a minute to fully process his surroundings. It was only then that he felt the hand, the one that saved him from limbo, still on his upper arm. He looked up to see his dad hovering over him.  
‘Everything alright, son?’ He let go of his arm but stayed near him.  
Confusion must have been adament on his face, because when Jughead didn’t answer, FP continued.

‘I think you were having a nightmare or something, you were grunting and breathing real loud and all. I heard it all the way in the livingroom.’ He studied Jugheads face, worry etched on his own. Then, to lighten the mood, he added: ‘You look like shit.’

‘Gee thanks.’ Jughead muttered sitting up. ‘I guess I take after my father.’  
That caused FP to chuckle, standing up he ruffled Jugheads hair.  
‘I guess you do. – Now, don’t you need to be getting to school or something ? ’

And with that, the whole situation was swept under the rug.  


 

Jughead was absolutely exhausted. He had had no intention of going to school, but the thought of falling asleep and revisiting that limbo was enough to drags his body across town.  


By the time he made it to school, he had missed the beginning of first period, so he decided to skip it altoghther.

With a little time to spare, he made his way to his locker. He was so out of it that it took him four tries to get his combination in correctly. Rummaging through it, he wondered how he was going to survive this day. He felt drained. His eyes were red rimmed, dark circles under them stood in stark contrast with his pale face, loose strings of hair falling out from underneath his beanie.

The bell sounded, signaling the end of first period. The hallways quickly started filling. He merged with the flow of people, head down, and made his way to History.  
  
It wasn’t until he took his seat in the far back of the classroom, that the dull feeling made room for anxiety. History was a class he shared with Archie and Betty. Gradually, people started taking their places. Jughead kept his eyes glued to his table.  Out of the corner of him eye, he saw a patch of red make it’s way to him. His heart was beating hard in his chest. He was not ready for social interaction.

Archie sat down next to him just as their teacher, Mr. Owens, walked in, ordering everyone to settle down and open their textbooks to page 154. Jughead bend down and grabbed his book, sitting up he sensed Archie eyeing him and he knew he couldn’t ignore him forever. And so he looked to his right.  
‘You never called me back.’ Was all Archie said.  
Jughead sighed. ‘I know. I meant to but, - then I didn’t.’ His eyes scanned the rows infront of him until he finally found the perfectly styled blonde ponytail he was looking for, all the way in the front of the class. As always.

‘You look terrible.’ Jughead looked back at Archie, who was studying his face.  
‘So I’ve heard.’ He rubbed a hand over his face. His knuckles had started healing.

‘Dude, what happened? I heard about you and Betty. She’s a wreck, you know.’

His face twisted in discomfort.  
‘Yeah, well, she’s not the only one.’  He could feel his resolve breaking. As much as he hated to admit it, he felt alone and in need of a friend. Someone who’d understand. As it turned out, he didn’t have alot of friend lining up. But he had Archie, who now sounded a little too accusatory for his liking. He understood. Ofcourse he did. How could he not? He decided to end things. He broke her heart. But he would have thought Archie of all people would know him better than that.

‘Then why? Why do something like that?’ Archie asked.  
  
It took Jughead a moment to gather his thoughts. How was he going to explain this? He started plucking at the scabs on his knuckles. Watching it start to bleed.  


‘I didn’t want us to end up like my parents.’

This time Archie didn’t respond immediately, taken aback by the honesty.

‘You wouldn’t have.’

‘You don’t know that.’ He snapped. ‘And I’m not willing to risk it. - Not with her.’

They both kept quiet for a while. Listening to Mr. Owens go on and on about the influence of the American Army in assisting in the liberation during the second world war. How patriotic of him.

‘You shouldn’t give up on things that easily.’ Archie finally spoke.

‘It wasn’t easy.’ Was all Jughead murmured.

As if on cue, the bell rang, orchestrating an cacophony of books slapping shut, scraping chairs, feet on cheap lynolium and hushed whispers slowly growing louder.  
Betty, he noticed, was first out the door. Jughead slumped in his chair, defeated. So far, trying to preserve his friendship with her had failed miserably. It took time, he knew. But right now he was feeling very impatient. He wasn’t sure what the rules were in situations like this.

‘You coming?’ Archie’s voice brough him back to the present. Jughead gathered his things and followed him out the room, walking towards the cafeteria. In the hallway, Jughead stopped. Archie looked back, clearly annoyed.  
‘Come on man, at this pace lunch will be over before we even make it there.’

‘I .. – I think it’s better if I don’t sit with you.’

‘Oh.. - Yeah, maybe.’ Archie looked a little unsure.  
  
‘It’s fine, go. I’ll be okay.’ He said, taking his cigarettes from his jacket pocket and holding them up. As if that would somehow convince Archie all was good.

‘Sure you don’t want some company?’

‘Nah, I’m good. Besides, you said it yourself. She’s a wreck. She needs all the support she can get.’ And with that, Jughead turned and walked away. He knew it was a low blow, he was just being bitter. Just a moment ago we wanted nothing more than a friend by his side, but the moment had passed and now all he wanted was to smoke a cigarette and be alone.  


	4. Chapter 4

The day dragged on unbearably long. As it turned out, avoiding people you go to school with is much harder than expected. It seemed his ability to go unnoticed had worn off. During the course of the day, he got some less than friendly glares from Kevin and Veronica. Even the football team seemed to have it out for him more than usual; spewing snarky remarks and shoving him against a locker in passing. Any other day he might have provoked them right back. Quell their big egos. But not today. Today he had to make do with the fact that he was still standing. That he was somehow still capable of functioning semi-normal.

The final bell rang and Jughead was convinced he had never heard a sound quite so sweet. He took a detour leaving the school. He was just about to exit when he heard a voice call out to him.  
‘Jug, wait up.’ Archie made his way towards him. ‘Hey.. eh- Listen, I never got around to asking how you are doing?’ Archie looked uneasy, maybe even a little guilty.  
‘You don’t need to worry about me.’ Jughead responded, ready to turn around and be on his way. But Archie wasn’t done.  
‘Why don’t you come over. Like old times.’  
Now, it was Jugheads turn to look uneasy. Archie’s home was his Achilles heel. A soft spot. It was a safe haven. But it was also right next door to Betty.  
‘I don’t know, man. It might not be the best place..-‘ he was beginning to say, be Archie cut him off.  
‘Betty has cheer practice, she won’t be home. And I’m sure my dad would like to see you. It’s been too long.’  
Damn you Arch, he thought, talking about soft spots. Archie sure knew his. And so Jughead nodded, giving in to Archie’s request.

They walked side by side. He could probably walk to Archie’s house blindfolded. It was familiar. Yet, Jughead felt uncomfortable. The last two days had somehow strained their friendship, and he was afraid he might lose his best friend all over again. He fumbled with the pack of cigarettes, bringing one to his lips and lighting it.  
‘So you started smoking again, huh?’ It wasn’t accusatory, just curious. Small talk.  
‘I guess I never really quit.’  
‘Remember the first time we smoked together? You stole that cigarette from your dad. We both coughed so loud we thought for sure your parents would hear us.’  
Jughead smirked, glancing sideways.  
‘Not that that made any difference. If I remember correctly, you felt so guilty, you almost immediately told your mom once you got home. I’m still amazed they let you hang out with me after that.’  
‘You were my best friend, they didn’t have much of a choice. Besides, you had already won them over with your quick wit.’  
‘Thank god for my smart mouth.’ He laughed. They walked in silence for a while. More comfortable then before. Jughead took in the neighborhood. This had been paradise. They had been pirates and wizards. They had used broken branches for sword fighting. Ran after each other with water balloons. Foolishly unaware that their time as kids was limited. That growing up loomed around the corner.  
  
‘You still are, you know.’ Archie broke the silence.  
‘What’s that?’  
‘My best friend. You’re still my best friend. ’  
Jughead looked back to Archie. There was a sincerity on his face that made him bite back the sarcastic remarks he normally used as a shield for emotional conversations.  
‘Good to know.’ He swallowed. ‘As far as I’m concerned you’ll always be mine.’ He looked to the ground.  
‘Good.’ Archie shoved his shoulder, laughing. A sign that their little heart to heart was over.

Stepping into the Andrews' residence was like stepping back in time. Ever since Mary left, things had pretty much stayed unchanged. Maybe that was one of the reasons Jughead liked it there so much. The certainty it brought. A certainty that was so very rare in his own life.

‘Arch, I’m in the kitchen.’ They heard Fred call.  
The house was warm and smelled of coffee. Jughead could just about see Fred sitting in the kitchen, work related papers scattered everywhere, his favorite blue coffee mug within reach, reading glasses on the tip of his nose.  
Once they made it to the kitchen, Jughead had to supress laughing out loud. Because there, although this time with newspaper, sat Fred Andrews. Blue coffee mug in hand. Doing crosswords.  
Some things really do never change.  
  
‘Jug! It’s good to see you.’ He smiled looking up. ‘How have you been?’ Fred was one of the only people who Jughead believed actually cared when asking that question. That, however, didn’t make giving an honest answer any easier. And so he oppt for the conventional option.  
‘Yeah, good.’ He smiled. Fred nodded. Jughead knew he made for a less than convincing performance, especially considering his appearance. But he also knew Fred wouldn’t press him on it.  
They chatted for a little while. About nothing in particular. Jughead respectfully declined staying for dinner. ‘Maybe some other time.’ He’d said.  
‘You’re always welcome here, Jug.’ Fred had said. It sounded casual but it carried alot of meaning. For him at least.

Upstairs, Archie’s room was also virtually unchanged. The same photos still decorated his nightstand, he noticed as he sat on the bed. One was of Fred and Mary, a smiling Archie in their midst. He must have been about four. The other was one of Archie, Betty and himself. They were all grinning. Betty was rocking pigtails, Archie’s hair was a wild mess and Jughead was wearing his crown beanie. Seeing the photo overwhelmed him with a sense of grief. Where had the time gone?  
‘Do you ever think we’ve already been the happiest we’ll ever be, without even noticing?’ He kept his eyes on the picture.

‘I don’t know..- Maybe.’ Archie began. ‘I think, growing up, you just become aware of all the shitty things that happen around you. And in the world. You just lose your innocence, and that hurts.’ He kept quiet for a moment.  
‘But that doesn’t mean you can’t ever be happy again. You just have to create your own happiness.’  
At that last part, Jughead snorted.  
‘Here I was wondering when you started sounding so smart, and then you say something right of the back of a cereal box.’

Archie looked faux offended.  
‘Excuse you, I’ll let you know I read that quote in one of Ronnie’s highly regarded magazines.’  
They both burst out laughing.

 

The weight of the world was lifted, if only for a moment.  
And Jughead wanted to cherish it, because he hadn’t felt that good in months.


	5. Chapter 5

He coulnd’t muster up the strength to pretend anymore. He could barely muster up the strength to carry his own weight, quite frankly. So after two days of hiding in the back of classrooms and spending his breaks alone smoking cigarettes, he decided to take the rest of the week of. He knew he was taking the cowards way out, but he was too exhausted to care.  

So the next morning he called school pretending to be his father, and called in sick. The lady on the other end murrmered an ‘ _sure ok, noted, good day._ ’ before hanging up with a swift click. Even if he had wanted for his father to actually make the call, which he didn’t because that meant talking feelings with a drunk, but even if, it seemed his father was hardly ever home. Even less so than usual.  
But for once, Jughead didn’t care. The last thing he needed was his father hanging around. Jughead was feeling too mentally unstable himself, even without having to look after his father too.  


And so there he was, in his shabby trailer park trailer room,  pondering what to do with his new found freedom. Next to his bed there where little stacks of books. Most of them he’d stolen from the library when he was younger. He might be more like his father than he cared to admit. Although he had always intended on bringing them back when he finished them. He just hadn't anticipated getting attached. He could read those stories over and over and not get bored. They were classics.  But right now, even the writings of Ray Bradbury couldn’t ease his troubled mind. The silence surrounding him was deafening. He needed to not be there. The confines of the trailer suddenly too much to bare.

Archie had texted him around noon, asking where he was and if he was okay. Jughead had wandered into town. He’d been craving a burger from Pop’s, but had stayed away. He didn’t want to ruin that place for Betty. But school was still in, so this was his golden opportunity. It was not just his undying love for Pop’s food, though. Jughead was also in need of a friendly face. Someone to talk to. If only just casual banter.     
  
Pop didn’t disappoint. Neither with his burger nor his banter.  
‘Do I even wanna know why you’re not in school?’

‘I’m sick. Can’t you tell.’ Jughead smirked.

‘Then I suppose I should make you some chickensoup huh?’

‘You’re breaking my heart, Pop. There’s only one thing that can cure me, I though you’d know that by now.’

‘Yeah, I figured as much.’ Pop laughed. ‘The usual then?’

‘You’re the doctor.’ Jughead smiled.

 

Once he’d gotten out of his foodcoma, he started rummaging though his backpack. He’d been too lazy to bring his laptop, but instead opted for the old school alternative; his notebook. Pen in hand, he had no idea what to write about. His novel had been on a low burner for a while now. The blank page kept staring back at him and eventually he zoned out. His hand mindlessley filling the page with random shapes. He’d been so engrossed in his own train of thought, he almost jumped out of his skin when someone slid into the seat across from him.

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.’ Fred Andrews smiled apologetic.  
  
‘Oh, I- No, that’s okay. It was time for me to return to planet earth anyway.’ He joked.

Fred smiled. ‘Yeah, you seemed far away.’  
Silence. Jughead wasn’t sure what he was suppose to say. If he was even suppose to say anything. But before he could figure it out, Fred began again.  
‘Why aren’t you in school?’ His voice sounded stern but his eyes showed concern.

Jughead looked away. Concern was, just like pity, something he had no idea how to handle. ‘I..-’ He rubbed his face. It was unlike him to not respond, but all his pent up emotions were taking the better of him.

‘Have you been fighting?’ The concern had reached Freds voice as he noticed Jugheads healing knuckles. More silence.

‘Only myself.’ Jughead eventually rasped. He cursed himself. He was not ready for a public display of emotions.

‘You can talk to me, you know that right?’ Fred tried making eye contact, but Jughead kept his eyes fixed on the table. Silence. _This kid has never learned how to open up. He looks so broken._ More silence. But then, to Freds suprise, Jughead started talking.

‘I don’t even have the right to feel like shit. I’m the one who broke up with her.’ He swallowed. ‘And I still stand behind my decision. No such thing as happy endings, I should’ve remembered. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love her. Because I do. I love everything about her.’ He sighed deeply, finally looking up, a sad smile, watery eyes. The hurt evident in his face. ‘All I want is to talk to her.’

Fred’s heart broke hearing him speak. When did this kid become so mature? So tired? He’d always known Jughead had to grow up faster than the other kids. He had a thicker skin, was more pragmatic and realistic. And far less likely to trust someone. But it never affected his spirit. Not like this.

‘Why not talk to her then?’

Jughead shook his head.  
‘She needs time.’ He looked down to his knuckles, before correcting himself. ‘Or maybe I’m the one that needs time. I think she’s handling this better than I am.’

‘You don’t know that.’ Fred said.

‘True. But I know her.’


	6. Chapter 6

Talking about himself always left Jughead with a bitter taste in his mouth afterwards. Like he was begging for attention. While in truth that was the last thing he wanted.   But it had felt good saying everything out loud. It reminded him why he’d done what he’d done. He felt relieved that Fred hadn’t judged him. Fred even seemed to understand his fears, what little he’d said about them anyway. It felt like a weight was lifted of his shoulders.   
 But talking had also made it feel that much more real. More final.  

 

He made sure to be gone around 2:45 PM. The early lunch crowd was slowly making way for High School kids coming to hang out and Jughead took that as his cue to go. He wandered around town for a while and eventually visited his favorite book store. It wasn't actually a book store per se, but rather a second hand shop. They sold just about anything; furniture, clothes, toys. And their book department was quite extensive. As a kid, Jughead had always felt ashamed having to go there. Now he saw the beauty in it. The afterlife of things. He walked along the long rows of bookcases, his hand glinding over the spines. Carefully examining the authors. He tried to imagine the people who previously owned these books. All those invisible fingerprints scattered across the pages. Invisible touches. These books had already lived a life. It calmed him down. Imagining it made him somehow feel more connected with this world. It made him feel less alone.

He ended up spending well over an hour snooping around and buying _Why I Write_ by George Orwell before finally heading home.  
It had started to get dark out, it was cold and his breath created a visible haze.  It were the first signs of winter approaching. Jughead didn’t mind. On the contrary. He had always felt more at ease during these dark days. The long walk home gave him time to evaluate his day. Overall it hadn’t been all that bad. He had enjoyed the mundanity of it. A serenity that was alien to him.

He rounded the corner to his trailer and got slung right back in the middle of it all. Because there, in front of his front door, sat a blonde he’d recognizing anywhere. His heart sank and leaped all at the same time. He wanted to run to- and away from her.

‘Betty…-’ He breathed. He didn’t approach her.  She looked up and Jughead couldn’t read her expression. Things really did change at a frightening pace.

‘You weren’t at school today.’ She stated.

‘What are you doing here?’ He questioned bluntly, unable to form coherent thoughts. 

‘I wanted to see you. I miss you.’ The way she looked at him made him dizzy. It was a mixture of longing and hurt and looking away was all he could do to stop his heart from breaking any further.

‘Betts…- I can’t. I can’t do this.’ He choked out.

‘Screw that.’ She bit back, standing up. ‘Why do you always do that? Feel the need to be a martyr? It not fair. Not to you and not to me.’ Her voice raw, tears were welling up in her eyes. Jughead was helplessly searching for words, staring at his shoes. Before he knew what was happening he felt a hand on his cheek and lips on his own. He closed his eyes. For a moment he let himself go along with it. Moved his lips in sync with hers. For a moment he let himself escape reality. Just a moment. Then he stepped back.

‘Betts…- Please. Don’t.’ His kept his eyes closed . He could hear her crying now.

‘Why…- I don't understand. Jug, I love you…- Why can’t you see how selfish you’re being?’ 

When he finally opened his eyes, he wished he hadn’t. Betty’s face was tear stricken. She looked betrayed and humiliated; just all together devastated. Jughead tried to reach for her. Wipe her tears away. But Betty flinced back.

‘Don’t.’ And with that, she stormed of, leaving Jughead behind in the ruins.

‘Damn it.’ He yelled, slamming his fist against the wall in frustration, opening old wounds in the process. He was just trying to do the right thing, why was that so hard to understand?  
He stood outside a little while longer, his head rested against the cold metal of the trailer. Just when he thought this evening couldn’t possibly get any worse, the front door opened and out came his father.  
‘You gonna keep pounding the trailer out here or are you coming in?’  
Without saying a word, Jughead walked inside. He got to the kitchen sink and he started rinsing his bloody knuckle. He could sense his father hovering in the doorway.  
  
‘So you just let her walk away huh?’  
His father made it sound so easy. Every fiber of his being had wanted to go after her. Tell her he loved her. Beg for forgiveness. But that would defy his better judgement. They had become toxic.  
And that realisation hurt far worse.

‘We broke up.’ Was all Jughead managed to say through gritted teeth.  
FP made a disapproving sound that made Jughead’s blood boil.

‘That girl loves you, Jug. And you her, clearly. It’s not like you to give up. Just like that.’

Jughead finally turned around, facing his father.

‘I just…’- He looked at his father, standing there, beer in hand. And suddenly he was blinded with anger. ‘No, you know what. I don’t owe you an explanation. You of all people. Just look what not giving up brought me.' He snapped, gesturing to his father.  'What do you even know about love? You’d rather be drunk than actually spend time with the people you supposedly love.’

And just like that, his father was an open book. He could see anger, remorse, hurt and finally sadness etched on his father's face. For a second it was as if time stood still. Jughead was numb. Frozen. But his insides were on fire. Then the second past and Jughead ran. Past his father, out the door. He kept running until his lungs refused to cooperate. He leaned against the nearest wall, catching his breath, then slid down. He pulled his leg up against his chest, rested his head on his knees and cried.  


	7. Chapter 7

‘Dad?’

He waited. No responds. While outside, guilt had seeped into his bones. He had hurt his father out of spite. Sure, his father was nowhere near perfect, but there had been a time not that long ago, when Jughead would have killed for some fatherly advice. To be able to talk to him about the problems he faced. The things he struggled with. But in that moment, his emotions took over and he lashed out. 

He closed the door behind him, mustering up the courage to take another step inside. Unsure of what would be waiting for him.  
 To the left, he noted the kitchen looked somewhat cleaner. Empty bottles were gathered in the corner on the kitchen counter.  
Peeking into the livingroom, he saw his father slummed on the couch, head craned resting on the backrest, eyes closed. His breathing soft and even. Asleep.

Jughead quietly entered the livingroom and took place on the armchair across from the couch. His body sore from the cold night and the hard ground. For a while he just sat there. Listening to his father’s steady breathing. Studying his face. Even asleep, he looked troubled. Despite all the hardship he had put them through, Jughead still loved his father. FP was not the same man Jughead had looked up to as a young boy. He was a shell of that man, but somehow Jughead still believed he was in there somewhere. Seeing him like this, he was suddenly overcome with uncertainty about what he was feeling. Maybe unhappiness was imbedded in their DNA. Maybe the series of unfortunate events was a cycle, passed on from generation to generation.  All he knew was that he missed the man is dad once was.

Sleep started fogging his thoughts and he let it. Enjoying the sweet nothing of an empty mind. The chair seemingly molded around the shape of his body. Embracing him. Enticing him to let sleep take him. And it did.

 

When he opened his eyes again, the tables had somehow turned. He found his dad awake, leaning forward; elbows on his knees, head in his hands. Looking at him. The soft light coming through the window suggested it was nearly dawn.

‘Mmwhat time is it? He mumbled, slowly sitting up. His mind was groggy, momentarily forgotten yesterday's events.  

‘A litte past six.’ FP answered before getting up and walking into the kitchen. Jughead could hear him rummaging around before he recognized the low humming of the coffee machine. Jughead couldn’t remember the last time his dad was home and making coffee at this hour. For a moment, he enjoyed the sentiment. The smell of coffee slowly waking up his mind.

Then, like a ton of bricks, he was hit with last nights guilty conscience. Suddenly, the low hum and the silence surrounding it felt suffocating.

Jughead was just about to get up when his father walked back in. Two coffee mugs in hand. His expression unreadable. FP handed him a mug.

‘Still drink it black?’

Jughead nodded. FP sat back down on the couch. They sipped their coffee in silence until Jughead couldn’t take it anymore.

‘Listen. Dad…- I…- About last night.’

‘If you’re about to apologise, save it kid. I had it coming.’ FP interjected. ‘I…- I have been a terrible dad. I know that. I have no business meddling in your life.’

Jughead noticed his father’s hands tremble lightly.

‘And maybe my motives for trying were even a little selfish. She gave you things, you know…- Stability. Love. Things I couldn’t and…- I mean.  You seemed happy. That’s all I want for you. That’s all every parent wants for their kid. Is to be happy.’

There was a heavy silence while FP tried to compose himself. Jughead didn’t dare speak for fear of crying. He wasn’t sure he even could anymore.

‘I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m trying my damnedest to keep you…-.’ FP seemed to bite back what he was about to say. He started over, instead setteling for: ‘I’m trying. And I’m sorry it isn’t enough.’

 

Jughead let out a breathe he didn’t know he was holding. His father looked so very fragile in this moment. But also honest. Loving. The man infront of him very much resembled the father he knew and loved. The one he knew was still in there somewhere.

‘I know.’ He voice sounded hoarse. He rubbed his eyes, both hands covering his face, before looking at his father. ‘I know you try. And I know you’re having a hard time too. But dad, honestly, all it takes are things like this. Here. Now. Drinking coffee together. You just being here every once in a while. That would go a long way.’

FP nodded, looking remorseful.  
‘You know, I’m really proud of who you’ve become, Jug. You’re a good kid. Nothing like your old man.’ FP smiled meekly.

‘You might be surprised.’ Jughead grinned.

And with that the tension was somewhat lifted, as they sat there finishing their coffees.


End file.
